


Another Stranger Me

by MelinyaValerian



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, several others mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelinyaValerian/pseuds/MelinyaValerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Pinocchio hadn't been reverted back to August in season 4?</p><p>Emma sees Pinocchio growing up and needs her time to find her definition for a "Happy Ending"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the Nature of Happy Endings

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick idea on what would have happened if Pinocchio had stayed a child and August would really have "died" during season 2. I wanted to know how Emma would handle it, and how Pinocchio would end up as an adult.

_It's the best outcome. Really. It is._

Maybe, if the words will just rotate through her mind long enough, she will start to believe in them, finally. He would have wanted her to believe.

But it is a hard thing to do when a not-so-small voice inside her tells her that it isn't for the best. A voice that twitches her insides and hurts and makes her sad every time she lays eyes on the little boy.  
She has to believe it is for the best. She has had to believe in stranger things in the last months, and now, there's more than two persons trying to help her believe. In fact, she can't deny that they all try to help her believe in this particular end. Or at least, accept it, as David – no, her dad – puts it.

And when she sees the little red-headed boy on the playing ground with her son, all happiness and smiles and the chance to live a life that isn't so screwed up with his father and Archie and Pongo and Henry and her and... it's hard as well to not think it is his happy ending. To restart.

She isn't jealous, and this she knows it's true. Because what hurts most of all; and it takes her weeks to understand that besides all the pain that she has lost him there is one thing that hurts even more than losing him; what hurts most of all is knowing that all what he has done wrong in the life he has lived, all his mistakes, but also all his regrets, his guilt and his honest wish to be a better man – all that has vanished with him.

Humans are far from perfect, far from able to avoid mistakes. But they can learn from everything they've screwed up, start over and be better – this is what makes them imperfect, yes. But also, it makes humans truly human; shaped by their mistakes and experiences.

Maybe Pinocchio gets his second chance to be a real and good boy, and really, she likes the boy. He is kind and nice and a bit mischievous, but never in a truly misbehaved, ill-meaning sort of way. He is sheltered and loved by Marco and Archie, and Henry really seems to like him. Hell, even she likes the boy, as much as she still thinks about who he has been only weeks before.

But no matter how she puts it, no matter how much she finds herself endeared by the kid, no matter how he will grow up to be – she isn't quite able to tell herself that one day, when he will be grown up, he will remind her of August. He will not. Because August has died with all the memories Pinocchio hasn't kept, with all the mistakes that have been undone and all the new experiences the boy will make as he grows up.

For Pinocchio, for Marco, it is the best outcome.

But for her, it means that she has to face the boy who has been one of the few close friends she has made in her life and always feel the hurt that he doesn't remember. Maybe one day it will stop. Maybe one day the kid – and he deserves it – will only be Pinocchio to her. But until then, it feels like it is only Pinocchio's and Marco's happy ending. Not August's. And not hers.

...

As the months pass, it really gets better. It seems life doesn't really give her the chance to stop and breathe and just live, but she finds herself not wanting it any other way. There's always something to do in Storybrooke, always some evil to fight. And as time pass by, she gets used to it. It's just the way her life is somehow destined to be.

At first, she doesn't notice it. But when there comes a time where she has a day or two, because really, a day to breathe is more time than Storybrooke usually grants her, she notices things. Henry has grown, some of his clothes do look really silly on him now, jeans that expose his ankles and shirts that were fine just yesterday and now don't even reach his wrists. She doesn't really know how to describe the fact that she knows he grows up, a fact that her head realises, but that her heart really can't wrap itself around.

It is depressing, a bit. She could have seen him grow up much more; from a tiny bundle that fit into her arms perfectly to the kid whose head barely reaches her hips, and newly her belly. It's one more thing that makes her ask herself if it had been for the best to give him up for adoption. Maybe it has been a mistake.

The thought gnaws on her sometimes, unwanted. But she doesn't like to live in the past, so she says to herself that she can't change it now. Maybe it has been a mistake, but right now, it doesn't matter. Because humans make mistakes, and all that matters is that she is there now.

She wonders sometimes when puberty will hit Henry, and if he will become just as difficult as she knows she has been. But now, besides growing, he is still the same, still goes out to do kids' stuff. He also still goes out to play with Pinocchio.

Sometimes, she goes with him when there is time. It's about three years – at least biologically – that separate hers and Marco's sons, but still they are at an age that doesn't make those years important. Maybe they will become important when Henry will enter puberty? It's another thing that is hard to believe when she sees them play. Probably not. Probably, Pinocchio will grow up being Henry's friend, just like August was once destined to be her best friend. She knows that it will work this time, she strangely knows it somewhere in her soul when she watches them both.

And time passes on, and it gets easier to believe that Pinocchio is not August every time she sees the kid, something that Henry seemed to have gotten used to in no time. The red-headed boy is truly happy in Storybrooke. And after the first cuts have healed, she begins to believe that it's enough for her to be content with it as well.


	2. An Old Friend

When Henry is fifteen, she is sure that she has the most facile son on this planet. He surely has entered puberty by now, but besides some irritated comments, and a sometimes not really thought-through behaviour, she is spared the tirades and outbursts she has feared. All goes smooth except for his growing; which seems to make him taller by several inches in days and then not again for months.  
He is still thick as thieves with Pinocchio, who comes to visit just as often as Henry goes to visit Marco's. The boy has quickly found an interest in stories and tales, and more often than not Henry and him exchange books and comics.

It's a day like that, Pinocchio has come to visit, and she has made hot chocolate for Henry and him (once with cinnamon, once without). They talk about a book Pinocchio has to read for school, and Henry offers his help as he always does and it makes her smile that even when he is fifteen and should be interested in girls and going out and being an adult in no time he still drinks hot chocolate and his favourite pastime includes exchanging stories with a younger kid. Maybe that is normal, she thinks, because her childhood has been everything but normal, and she guesses that she's had to grow up quicker than the average child. And Storybrooke is maybe a dangerous place, sometimes; but it also is quite sheltered.

Henry is gone for a moment, just to fetch a book from his room and some of the notes he took three years prior on the same reading. That leaves her alone with Pinocchio in the kitchen, and even if the cuts have healed by now, or at least scarred, and she hardly ever thinks about August when she sees the boy, she still feels a little melancholic this time. Maybe because she knows that she witnesses the happy childhood she was never allowed to have. It isn't quite jealousy, and knowing how children are and how bad it can be in a strange place alone, where all you want to do is run away, she can't even be angry anymore thinking that August abandoned her when she was only a baby. It was too much for a seven year old boy. It would have been too much for her as well. Hell, it nearly was too much when she first came to Storybrooke, twenty-one years older at that time than August was when he and she came through the wardrobe.

She can't really get those thoughts out of her head this day as she watches Pinocchio read his school book with eyes sparkling. She still thinks he is a kind boy. Marco and Archie raise him good, both with love and understanding, but also with some strictness should he cross some lines. She remembers a day when some children have made it a dare to go into the grocery store and steal chocolate. It was a stupid thing, really. Something she has done much more often in her childhood. But as the boys have been caught, Pinocchio amongst them, she has found herself reprimanding them nevertheless, as was her job as an adult and the sheriff. She hasn't been sure that she's really got through to them, but looking into little Pinocchio's eyes as Marco came to fetch him, severely disappointed, she knew that at least with him, the message that one should not steal has become clear. She has caught two of the boys again, but not Pinocchio. It's seemed as if one mistake and one disappointment has been enough, and the thought makes her smile.

“Ms Swan?”, says a voice, and she is shaken out of her thoughts. Pinocchio looks at her with concern in his huge dark eyes and she realises she has been staring at him without seeing him for a while now. She wonders what takes Henry so long. “You look sad, are you okay?”

_Sweet little thing_ , she thinks, and manages a smile, not as sad as she feels. “I'm okay, sweetie. Don't you worry”, she says and refills his cup with chocolate and his eyes dart towards the whipped cream. She hands it to him with a grin, and he eagerly tops his chocolate with it. But then, his smile fades and he looks at his cup with more concern.

“I hope it's not me”, Pinocchio says finally, and she nearly looses grip of her own cup.

“Don't be silly, why should you...”, she says and ruffles his hair with an encouraging smile that hides the pang of guilt in her stomach.

“Because papa says I remind you of someone you knew once, and that you lost him. And that you are sometimes sad that he is gone.”

She fights the urge to hug him, and the urge to cry a bit. Just a bit. But there is a truth in this little boy's voice that gets through to her, even if she still has walls around her heart and she just slowly lets people through. After some heartbeats she ruffles his hair again, still endeared and heartbroken at the same time at the sincerity of this boy.

“Your papa is right”, she finally says, and he looks shaken. She kneels down so that they are face to face, and puts her hands on his shoulders. “But that doesn't mean that this is your fault, you understand? You don't have to be sorry.”

“But I don't want to make you sad”, he whispers and her heart melts. God, why are kids always that endearing.

“You don't make me sad”, she says. “In fact, you make me very happy. I just … need to let this person go, and you know, it's not always easy for adults to do that.” The boy in front of her slowly nods and lets her words sink in. She gives him another smile and ruffles his hair once more. She could swear that it has been lighter some years ago, and more red.

“Papa never tells me who that person was”, Pinocchio states, and she hears from his voice that he wants to know. There's this thirst for answers, that curiosity she knows from Henry, and from herself when she has been younger.“He says he knew him, too, but not as good as you did.”

She decides that if Marco doesn't want to speak about it, neither should she. But Pinocchio's eyes demand an answer, and she also wants to give it. “He was... a bit like my older brother. He died the day you came to Storybrooke, that's why I have to think about him so often when I see you. But don't you worry, sweetie. He has found his happy ending.”

She feels strange because the words come so easy to her even if they are not quite true, and Pinocchio is polite enough not to ask further and gives her a tentative smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly think that Pinocchio and Henry would have made good friends, and would share a mutual interest in stories.  
> I also think that Pinocchio would still be Pinocchio and thus prone to falling for temptations, but not truly ill-meaning and full willingly causing trouble. I rather see him as easily influenced by other kids. But I also guess that if you grow up with Archie and Marco, you learn quickly to learn from your mistakes.


	3. Growing Up

This one incident in her kitchen somehow has made it easier for a while. Like it's been the last thing she's needed, after four years, to finally let everything go. She knows Pinocchio now for much longer than she ever knew August, and finally, it seems okay.

But only for a while.

Henry is eighteen now and has finished school, and with all his interest in stories and literature he wants to go to college to study. It's a good thing she gets along with Regina better after all this years, because college is something that she hasn't got the money for, even if she has saved. She and Regina strike a deal; every mom gets to pay half of Henry's fees, even if it means that they both have to let go of him. And the day they come back to Storybrooke, having brought Henry to college in Boston together, they both understand each other because suddenly, the town has become a bit more dull, and a bit more depressing. She realises that this is even more true for Regina, as Emma still has her little brother to worry about, and a certain pirate at home who's lately been harbouring plans to set little rascals into the world. She isn't so sure – she's thirty-six by now, has a grown up son, and even if Henry seemed to like the idea of having a younger sibling – does she really want to have a child so much younger than her first one? Her own brother is thirty years her younger, and sees herself much more like an aunt than like his sister, and she isn't so sure she wants that with Henry again. But then again, when Killian looks at her like a stray puppy who's just finally found a home, she sometimes thinks that a little pirate at home wouldn't be as bad. She doesn't feel too old yet, at least not in a direct sense.

Regina lets her out at her flat, but instead of going inside and complaining to her husband that the flat seems too empty and that she can't tell where the years have gone and that time flows so fast she goes for a walk. Just to think, and to calm down.

She comes across the playing ground, and even if it's already dark outside a figure sits on one of the swings and stares at a large book. It's so familiar it startles her, and she draws closer.

Of course, it's not Henry, and it's also not their castle. But it's his book, the book, it can't be another, she sees it even from the distance. She finds herself startled that he's given it away. But not so much anymore as she realises who holds it now; a lanky figure too tall and long-legged for the swing and also too old, but he reads every page and drinks in every word as if his life depends on it.

She smiles a bit melancholic, and sits down on the swing next to a now fifteen year-old Pinocchio.

“I didn't know he gave you this”, she says quietly.

He looks up and his eyes meet hers. She hasn't been alone with him for a while now, and she feels startled how clear his eyes have become; less hazel and more a greenish blue now, just like his hair has darkened. She hasn't thought of this yet, but she knows it's true; one day, he will look like August, somehow, and she thinks about them both at once now for the first time in years.

“He says somebody needs to keep it now that he's gone, and that Prince Neal should have it when I'm out of school in some years”, Pinocchio answers in a voice that sounds hoarse and croaking.

“So you plan to join him in Boston, I take it”, she says, and sees his answer in form of a vigorous nod, which gets slower and finally stops, leaving him looking sadly at the book.

“I don't know if papa can afford it”, he admits, and sounds ashamed that he does so. “It's not as if … I shouldn't say that. He's already doing so much for me, and I can still take over his shop, I'm good with my hands.”

It's strange for a fifteen year-old to say that, she knows. But she also knows that he is probably right, Marco isn't wealthy and Archie is neither, even if he helps out. She knows herself how it feels, but she and Henry have had Regina to help.

“When there's a will, there's a way”, she says to him, and there is suddenly a bit of hope in his eyes. “There's... scholarships. And you can... work, to get some money. And save something yourself.”

“Henry said that as well”, he muses. “He said I should try to make some money with the stories I write.”

Yes, the stories. Something that makes it harder not to think of August. Henry has told her about it, it's started about a year ago. It seems there have been so much stories inside Pinocchio's head, and all he's needed has been some encouragement to write them down. Henry always swears he tells the best stories, and from what Emma has read, her son is right. For his fifteenth birthday, she and Marco have decided to give him August's typewriter. It seemed so old-fashioned in the time of smartphones, but Pinocchio loved the old thing. Henry's told her once that half of Pinocchio's room is full of written pages by now, and that Marco's shown him how to bind real books.

Just like August did with the book Pinocchio now possesses.

“You could put them on the internet”, she offers, and he waggles his head a bit. Another peculiar thing about Pinocchio is that he doesn't trust modern technology farther than he could throw his typewriter. It's a small miracle he owns a mobile phone, says Henry. “Or sell them to a paper.”

“I'm fifteen, who wants to read about the fairy-tales a fifteen year-old writes in his free time?” There is frustration in his voice, something she has never connected with him. She doesn't want it there, he is so young, he shouldn't be so frustrated.

“Kids, maybe? Why don't you ask Belle, or my mother. They know a bit about books and stuff, more than me. Maybe they can help you find a place to publish your stories.”

“But it isn't okay to make money with … with fantasies”, he replies, still frustrated.

“Fantasies are not lies”, she laughs as she realises where this is going, and is happy that he laughs with her, even if silent and sheepish. “I had to learn that years ago, from the very book you're just holding.”

He looks at her once more with his wide, curious eyes, and then shifts his gaze to the book, awestruck. “It's marvellous”, he whispers, and slowly traces the cover. “It's a real treasure, so much history, so many good stories... And a good piece of work, says papa.”

She laughs a bit more at the irony, but Pinocchio doesn't realise it.

They are silent for a while, and Pinocchio flips the pages and reads a bit, and she just watches him. She feels that she could do it a long while, just like she could watch Henry read for about half a day before somebody snaps her out of it.

But suddenly, he stops. “Mrs Jones?”, he asks and looks up again. “You know this book, too, right? Henry says you read it as well.” She hears interest in his voice and thinly veiled excitement, and nods. “You know my story, don't you.” It's a statement, not a question.

She fears where this leads, but she nods nonetheless. Pinocchio is not a good liar, and as far as she knows Marco and Archie have managed it to have him grow up honestly. She couldn't lie to him like that.

“Papa won't tell me what happened between the day I went through the wardrobe and the day I woke up in Storybrooke. He says I'm too young to know.” There's this trace of resentment in his voice, this _I-am-already-nearly-an-adult_ trace that she knows from Henry's voice, but just as with Henry, Pinocchio is a rather facile teenager. A bit more mischievous than her son, a bit more interested in going out and girls than Henry three years prior and with a strange fascination for motorcycles and leather jackets, but still quite harmless. He has had a good upbringing. “Can't you tell me?”

She has feared those words, she really has. Since the first day Henry has shown Pinocchio the book, she has feared he would ask, but it seems as if the one receiving those questions has always been Marco. Until now.

She sighs heavily. “I can't say if your papa wants to tell you later”, she says, and she agrees wholeheartedly that she doesn't want to be the one breaking the news to Pinocchio that he has already grown up once.

“But you know”, he says and fixes her with his eyes, and suddenly, even if they are (still) greenish they look like August's to her with his utter believe written in them. She's the one knowing now and he's the one who's guessing, who wants the truths but can't get it. Even if he would surely believe it. “And I need to know.”

“You will”, she says with determination, gulping down the feeling that she dreads that day somehow. “Maybe not now. But when you're older, your papa will tell you, or allow me to tell you. I need you to be patient until then.”

He rolls his eyes. “Patient”, he mutters, and she hears a tone in his voice that is not child-like any more. “Be a good boy and be patient, he says. And polite. And friendly. And honest. And selfless. And brave.” He sighs heavily and throws his head back, staring at the moon. “Be so many things. Really, Mrs Jones. Growing up sucks, especially when your papa has a friend who is a shrink and Jiminy Cricket both in one person.”

“I know”, she answers. “I've also been a teenager once. But honestly, don't you think all what they say and want you to be is for the best?”

“'Course”, he sighs. She has to laugh out again, hearing from his voice that while he mocks it, he still will try to be everything he's just listed. “That's what parents do, I guess. Or adults in general. But that doesn't make it less annoying.”

“Don't you think it has some good sides?”, she then says. “Like going to college with Henry? Or getting a driver's licence for that motorcycle your papa keeps? Or being allowed to drink alcohol?”

He gives her a mischievous grin. “I've already tried beer”, he says in a voice that seems to test her. But she isn't his mother to scold him for it, and honestly, she hasn't really expected him not to have tried. “But whiskey's better.”

She snorts out a sharp laugh, and he laughs with her, his eyes sparkling. “Where did you get it from?”, she then says, now speaking as the sheriff. Beer is one thing, whiskey another. There was a difference of several percent alcohol.

“Can't reveal my sources”, he grins confidently and shrugs, very un-child-like, much more like a certain writer she knew once, testing her, playing with his knowledge. “You're the sheriff.”

There's no space for exasperation where reason manifests inside her. “You know that handing alcohol to minors is a crime? And yes, I am the sheriff”, she says in a more determined voice. “It's my job to make sure this town's safe, from all sorts of criminals.”

She halfway anticipates him to make a witty comment and don't reveal anything, but he is not August, and he is only fifteen, with a good conscience that obviously only needs a kick from a determined adult to work. “Relax, Mrs Jones”, he says with a shrug and lifts his hands defiantly. “Archie let me try a bit of his Scotch at his birthday party. No need to panic.”

“And you didn't get drunk on it?”

“With Archie watching me the whole time as if I'd fall over any second? Impossible.”

“Good”, she says curtly, and takes a deep breathe to steady herself. The mother and the sheriff in her have both been talking right now, and probably, she overreacted a bit.

Pinocchio is back to looking at his book.

“So you won't tell me the truth either”, he finally says in a low, quiet voice. “And I have to be patient again.

“You can do that, you have to”, she responds, and he sighs, defeated. “It's with the alcohol. There are things for which you need to be old enough.”

“And when will that be? When will I be old enough to know about those years I don't remember?”

She has to sigh quietly. “Your papa has to decide that.”

He takes a deep breath and shrugs. “I know. Trying to be a good boy isn't easy.”

“Nobody claimed it was.”

“Henry says it's worth it.”

“He's right”, she replies, marvelling silently at her son's grown up behaviour, given the fact who his mothers are and who his father-figure has been for the last years.

He sighs again, louder this time, and his eyes go back to the book he holds. “Do you really think I should show my stories to someone?”

She notices his hands rest on the first page of Pinocchio's story, and she wonders briefly if he knows that August, who is him and isn't him in the same breath, wrote it. She remembers the stories August told her, and how he could make her want to believe, even if she couldn't. “I know people will love them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hadn't intended for Hook to show up here. But there he was, sneaking into this story, and I suddenly had the urge to have Pinocchio call Emma "Mrs Jones". And so I did. This whole story is heavily AU, so ... I guess I can have Emma married to that pirate. Nevertheless I apologise for OOCness, the "little rascals" thing was just too tempting to not be included. 
> 
> Another note on Pinocchio: I do think that he would be a harmless teenager if somebody watched out for him and guided him on the right track (a.k.a. Archie and Henry, and probably Marco, though I am not sure about his parenting skills beside the fact that he really loves his son). He seemed to be the type of boy to try out everything because it's tempting and he wants to fit in with the other kids - but not like the type of boy who would party hard and be rebellious just for the sake of it. I may be wrong, of course.


	4. Of Books and Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of an interlude, and my fantasy regarding Mr and Mrs Jones going a bit more astray.

It's when Henry comes home for the first time that Belle tells her that Pinocchio has visited her more often than usual in the last weeks, and that he's mustered the courage to ask her how books are published, and if she could maybe help him with his stories.

When he comes to visit Henry she can't help but feel proud, and when he tells Henry (and her by extension, because she's been in the kitchen as well making hot chocolate for the sake of old times) that he really thinks about publishing a storybook with his adventure stories in, she has to smile, and fight the urge not to ruffle his hair. By the look on Henry's face, it's the same for him.

When Henry visits the first time after Christmas, Pinocchio hands him a book, a draft he says with his first version of the stories he wants to publish for Henry to make corrections. Belle has worked quite a bit for him, looking into publishers and possibilities, and it seems as if the encouragement he gets from nearly all sides has made Pinocchio much more confident in at least trying.

It takes a year before everything is cut and dried, but when Pinocchio gets sixteen and his papa finally allows him to drive August's old motorcycle, the first edition of his adventure book comes to Storybrooke's book store. To say it's a best seller would be an overstatement, but Emma gets to know from Marco and Henry that Pinocchio still has made a bit of money with it and is currently saving it for college (he doesn't even want to buy a new typewriter as someone suggested). What is much more than the money to her is the support the young writer has gotten from not only his closest relatives and friends, but from nearly everybody in Storybrooke.

One night in The Rabbit Hole Belle tells her that she's found a huge bouquet of flowers at the library one morning, and Emma's mother, who became quickly involved in the whole business, reports of a similar incident from her classroom. Emma smiles a knowing smile, and so does her mother, and so does Belle. After all, their aspiring writer is still only sixteen, and sometimes, only sometimes, a bit shy. She finds flowers in the sheriff's station one morning as well, together with a card saying “Thank you.”

The next time she sees Pinocchio, she tells him bluntly that she liked the lilies, and finds it adorable how he blushes and pretends to not have the faintest idea what she is speaking about.

For once, everything seems to be just fine.

It's also by that time that she finally gives into the puppy dog looks of her husband regarding more little rascals in the Jones' household.

…

Her daughter is born when she is nearly thirty-eight, and Henry nearly twenty. Her first fears that it would be awkward quickly pass; even her thoughts that she is now both; a very young mother and a very old one. But nobody seems to truly care, not even Henry, who is simply in love with his baby sister. Neal adores her just as much, and Emma just has to stop thinking that Neal behaves like a brother when he is in fact her uncle, and that Henry will be more an uncle than he can be a brother. It doesn't seem to faze anybody, and given the fact that her own parents look about as old as her, it probably shouldn't bother her, either. Why should she worry, when the feeling of her daughter in her arms, her smile and her baby blue eyes, together with her adorably dumbstruck husband and her proud older son are everything she needs to be happy.


	5. Truth and Fantasy

With being pregnant first and taking care of a newborn second she's given up her job to her father, and resulting, doesn't see as many people in a long time as she used to, at least not long enough for more than small talk.

Pinocchio hasn't visited so often during that time when Henry's been at home, the two of them have gone out more often, or visited Regina, and she's only caught sight of him once or twice in between doors.

So it comes as a real surprise as he stands in her door frame one day when her daughter is about five months old, even more so because Henry is not there and he must know it. He's about seventeen and some months now, she recalls; and he has become even taller. It makes her gape a bit as she realises that his hair is so dark by now, not dyed but naturally nearly black; and that the brown pigments in his eyes have vanished totally. Suddenly they really are August's eyes; clear and blue and somehow piercing; but Pinocchio looks so much more shy and sheepish there in her door frame, making her only think of August very shortly.

She asks him in, and so they find themselves in her kitchen, drinking hot chocolate while he still needs to muster the courage to tell her why he came. He fiddles with a wrapped up something in his hands that suspiciously looks like a book.

She decides to help him find his words. “Your new book?”, she says in a friendly voice.

He nods feebly. “I... want to do it again, publish it, I mean. It's... I don't know how to say it.” He desperately looks at her kitchen furniture, his eyes darting back and forth between the fridge and the shelf with the spices, as if they could tell him what to say. She finds herself alarmed a bit, she hasn't seen him that shy since he has been twelve.

“You want me to send it to Henry?”, she offers, but she knows that's not it even before he shakes his head.

“No. I... want you to read it and tell me what you think of it”, he then says, in a forcefully steady voice. She feels confused and lost for words. Why her? She has always only been the mother of his best friend, why would he want her to read the story first?

He seems to get her thoughts, as he takes a deep breath, fixes his eyes on her and goes a bit pink. “I wrote about... about something that I dreamt once. Something that... has to do with you.”

Her eyebrows rise into her hairline, and she is still too confused to say anything. “You know... it's about two people, and one of them is inspired by you, so to say. And before I really do anything with it, I want to know what you think of it, Mrs Jones. I wouldn't do anything if you didn't like it. I really need to know.”

…

She is startled and enthralled from the first page onward, and quickly finds out why Pinocchio only wanted to give her vague information about the book before.

It's not an adventure story, not in a traditional sense. It's not even a story fit for children like the others he used to write. She isn't really sure if she is fit to read it once she gets to page twenty, and still she does.

It's about a boy who is tasked by his father to take care of a newborn and send to a different country with the child. But pressure, too much responsibility and too many temptations make the boy give up on his task and in every chapter of the book, he regrets it, wants to make it up, but because he is still a child, he always fails. He tries to write letters, but the letters never reach his princess. He tries to visit and steals money to go by bus to the orphanage they have lived in together at first, but he is caught by his foster parents, scolded and sent back into the foster home, only to find his princess gone to another family. He fails so often that he dulls, gets jaded and makes the wrong friends; street kids and punks; and finally just gives into being a good-for-nothing teenage thief. Sometimes he seems like Oliver Twist to her, sometimes, much later, like Face from the A-Team. It's a sad and twisted story about a hopeful, sweet kid who becomes a jaded teenager and much later, a hedonistic and shady adult. It hurts her to read it, she wonders how in the world Pinocchio could know all this, how in the world Pinocchio would know at all, when he has forgotten everything. But she still can't quit the book, it's written too good, too enticing; but when she gets to the point where the protagonist finds his princess after two years of searching – finally having given into his still active feelings of guilt and regret – and finds her doing shady and illegal stuff herself with another criminal who happened to have stolen watches she begins to think it's all too much of a coincidence to not be August's story. And every chapter from there on confirms her, from the fact that the protagonist steals the money meant for his princess and goes to Phuket, unable to resist and thinking he still is young and has still time to find her again, from the fact that he ignores his guilt for the next ten years and returns only the day that he notices that his physical condition gets worse and worse, and that he wants to see his princess again before he dies. It's not really what happened in reality from that point on, it focusses on the protagonist's search for her and has them not rescue Storybrooke, but find each other. In the end, the protagonist dies, after helping his princess getting custody of the son she has given up for adoption once and reunites them with her now reformed but formerly criminal lover. Emma knows this part is rubbish, but she also has the feeling that Pinocchio knows as well.

It's a sad book, she has to admit. But she loved it nonetheless.


	6. Another Stranger Me

She goes to see Pinocchio the day she has finished reading, waits for him in front of the school, while Killian takes care of their daughter.

The boy is a bit distraught when he sees her, but he knows she's looking for him. They go to the playing ground together and sit down on the swings.

“It's about my book, isn't it”, he says with a tone that sounds like the little boy who once was caught stealing chocolate. “You didn't like it.”

She has thought of words to say all day, but now, nothing is in her mind and she finds herself lost for anything reasonable to say. “I did, it's just...”

“I'm sorry I made you have a criminal lover and a criminal record”, he bursts out, and she laughs a bit, before she realises what his distress means. He doesn't know the truth, he thinks it's just something that his mind made up, like any other of his stories.

“You dreamt this?”, she finally says, deciding to ignore the last statement he made, because really, it doesn't matter.

“Not... totally”, he admits, and he looks nervous. “I made up the end, because... I don't know. The end of my dream was strange, and I didn't want Storybrooke and the curse to appear in the story.”

She thinks it's a wise decision and nods. He thinks it's a dream, just a dream. It's relieving, and in another way, it's sad. He looks so much like August by now, like a teenaged August, and somewhere inside himself, there is the truth waiting to break through, waiting to be discovered. She should tell him the truth now, but she can't without Marco's consent, and she still isn't sure if he is ready for it.

“I really did have a criminal lover once and I do have a juvie record”, she says finally. “So I'm not affronted the slightest. And also, you always called my character the princess, I don't think I got away very bad in the end”, she teases and he chuckles a bit.

“I wanted to give her a name, you know”, he says. “And him, as well. But I couldn't think of any.” It's true, she realises; his protagonist is just “the boy”, or “the thief” or anything like that, but he never has a name, and neither has his princess, or her child, or the criminal lover. They are all blank spaces.

“Maybe I could help you there”, she offers. “Why don't you call her... Leila?” It's the first thing that comes to her mind, thinking of Leia, and finding it a bit too exotic. “And her lover... you could call him... Cassidy, or Casey, or something. And the boy they have, call him James.”

He tilts his head back and frowns. “And the protagonist? I thought of Oliver. Or Alvin Brenner. Or Templeton.”

She has to laugh at him making the same connections as her. “You really can't find any name for him?”

He looks uncomfortable and avoids her eyes. “Giving him a name would make him real. And I... he's so much like me, like me without papa and Archie, I don't know if I want to make him so real. But still... he deserves a name. Rather conflicted situation.”

Her heart misses a beat. He seems on the verge of knowing. Can she really want that, can she really want him to find out like that what she or Marco should have told him earlier?

“How did your dream end?”, she asks carefully, and he sighs.

“He was here, in Storybrooke”, Pinocchio admits, and he focusses on his feet now. “Helped you with the curse, but he always feared that he's failed in the end, spending his life with temptations instead of helping you. And then...”, Pinocchio takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Then he turned back to wood, like the wood I am... I was made of. He lived in the forest for months, too ashamed to go anywhere and see his father, and in the end he made a sacrifice and died to safe his princess, finally... I don't know. He felt content with himself in the end.”

She isn't sure she can grasp it yet, the concept that this boy has just dreamt August's entire life, and wonders why he doesn't realise that it was his life. Or maybe he has realised it, and decided to not speak about it. Maybe she should tell him now, maybe that's for the better, but she can't bring herself to it yet. “You could have given him a more happy ending in your book”, she whispers instead.

“That would make him somebody else”, he admits in an instant, as if he had anticipated her question. “Don't get me wrong, I still like him, sort of. But he did a lot of awful things, that guy. And he regretted them and wanted to make up for them, and papa always says that this is the most important thing in life – learning. If he'd gotten his happy ending without … without making mistakes, without failing – he wouldn't be himself, would he? I thought I needed to honour him with giving him the possibility to die with some small form of ... of absolution, though.”

 _Maybe it's the fact that he is actually in his late forties that he possesses this kind of understanding_ , she thinks, as her head begins to wrap around the fact that he knows his story, maybe only doesn't know that it is his story. Even without Marco's consent, she knows she has to say something, something deeper than appreciating his work.

“I... really liked the book, even if it's sad”, she begins, and there is hope in his eyes. “I admit it's difficult, because... I think you know why.”

He avoids her gaze, takes in a deep breath and locks eyes with her once more, more determined than before. He gives her a silent nod, a nod that makes her heart stop beating for a second. “It's about him, isn't it?”, he whispers so lowly that she hardly hears him.

And now she finds herself tasked with telling him something that he already knows. “What you wrote down there... it's the story of the friend of mine you remind me of, the one who died when you came to Storybrooke.” He looks like he expected this, and nods without a word. She tries to read him, find out whether or not he still thinks her friend was a different person than he is.“You can publish it, if you like, you've got my consent. And I think you'd have his.”

“You won't tell me more, will you”, he mutters and now avoids her eyes. “Who that man was, and how you felt about him, and how exactly he died and … all those things.”

“Give me time, Pinocchio”, she says lowly. He is confused, she knows it, but suddenly, she feels not ready to talk to him about it. Not without talking to Marco before. She asks herself why that is, because he said it himself that he didn't think of August as a completely awful person. The boy is old enough, she knows it; but suddenly, ten years are not enough distance for her. So speaking to Marco it is. And then, speak to Pinocchio about something he probably already guesses. It speaks for him that he is indeed more patient now. “I digested this book, you had to come along with it as well. I have to ask you to be patient again, for a while, and I will answer your questions then. And you need to show this to your papa, and maybe to Archie. And ask them for their opinion. Deal?”

He nods with a tired expression, tired of waiting, but old enough to understand. “Can you at least tell me how he was called? Your friend, I mean?”

“August Wayne Booth”, she answers without thinking.


	7. Coming Clean

She goes to see Marco the very next day.

Pinocchio has indeed given him his manuscript, and is away on his motorcycle giving a copy to Archie when she arrives at the workshop.

“He's been very quiet working on it”, the carpenter admits with a frown. “Nearly withdrawn. He always told me about the adventures he makes up in his mind, but not this time.”

“Have you already had a look inside?” She knows it's a stupid question, and Marco only shakes his head as she has expected. “Then I guess you should handle it with top priority, as should Archie.”

“He's given it to you before, I take it?” She hears a bit of regret in Marco's voice, and she can relate. It's the first time Pinocchio has trusted her with something he hasn't trusted his father with firstly.

“I... didn't think anything of it at first”, she says, unintentionally defiant. “He only told me that one of the characters reminded him of me... and that he wanted my consent first because of it.” Marco nods, halfway approvingly, and still slightly hurt.

“But this is not why you are here”, the carpenter concludes, and she shakes her head.

“It's because...”, she sighs, searching for words and not able to find them. “Because it's August's story he wrote down”, she manages to press out. Marco's face tells her everything she needs to know.

“How could he... have you? Tell me you didn't tell him!”, he says, caught somewhere between excitement and fear.

“I haven't”, she affirms, and he believes her without a further question. “He says it was a dream.”

Realisation crawls over Marco's face. “Yes, of course... he had a dream a while ago, and he didn't want to tell me about it like usual. I didn't press him to... He assured me it wasn't a nightmare. Good Lord, I hope it didn't... I never wanted him to... grow up knowing that August...”

“Made so many mistakes and to believe he was destined to make the same”, she concludes dryly and Marco nods.

“I thought that when he is a bit older, a bit more settled in this land, in this world... I could tell him then, still, without risking he wouldn't understand... It seems I missed the right time. Archie was already worried.”

The roaring engine of a motorcycle rips both adults out of their thoughts, and with both sad amusement and something like wistfulness she sees a young man with a black leather jacket and an old-fashioned helmet dismount August's motorcycle.

Pinocchio frowns at her talking to his father, and there are so many questions in his eyes that it hurts her.

“Patience it is, I take it”, he mutters darkly as he passes them, and she nods.

“Not much longer, my boy. I promise.” Pinocchio's demeanour changes , becomes lighter, more hopeful, just as she sees the dark clouds behind Marco's eyes. “Let me just call Archie and invite him over dinner.”

…

She doesn't sleep well that night, not even in her husband's arms. She has come to the agreement with Marco that it was for the best if she isn't there when he tells Pinocchio his story. When the young man would have digested Marco's part, she would have to talk to him again.

And even after ten years, it seems difficult to her now. The memories are still there, the book has refreshed them somehow, even the little ones that blurred with time.

She's prepared to go to Marco's in the evening, or so she thinks.

But not for the young man in question standing in her door frame by the time she and Killian have just finished breakfast.

“Shouldn't you be at school?”, she wants to say but he doesn't allow her to; his eyes look so different from just yesterday, so knowing and so certain; but also so confused and so guilty. So much like August's when they fought over her believe that it startles her for a second.

“I'm sorry that I abandoned you and took Baelfire away from you and made you go to jail”, he blurts out, still in the door, without any hint of a warning.

She thought she could deal with everything. But instead of saying something wise and adult-like, she only waves him inside, into the kitchen and to her frowning husband, making him sit down and finds herself preparing hot chocolate before anyone says anything else.

She knows she shouldn't be so unsure.

Pinocchio looks miserably down to the table, Killian eyes them both with arched brows and looks like making a sharp comment. She attributes it to her telling him the whole mess with Pinocchio and the book and Marco last night in his arms that he keeps silent.

“Marco told you everything”, she finally manages to say, thinking it's best to start in the beginning.

Pinocchio nods quickly, without looking up. “I don't understand...”, he mutters, “You... must be mad at me, but you aren't, are you? You always were... were so nice to me.”

She gives it to the mother in her that all she can do is sigh, shake her head and ruffle his hair, even if he's too old for it now. “I'm not mad at you.”

“I should have been a better boy the first time around”, he says, still fixing on the table, and more than anything else, the regret in his voice makes her sad. “Then your... your life...”

“This was not your doing, Pinocchio”, she says, out of sudden finding her determination back. “I realised a long time ago that you are not August, and I thought you did so as well.”

“I thought he was just a dream”, Pinocchio squirms. “Just a story, not... not my story.”

“What did you think of him when you wrote that book?”

Pinocchio looks up from the table, and though still unsure, fixes his eyes on her now. “That he made many, many mistakes. But that he was a good man, if only in the end.”

She finds herself nodding. “That's what I think of him, as well. And why do you think knowing that … that he was your... first life, so to say, why do you think that changes anything about you?”

“I don't know”, he admits, though looking a bit less like a drowned rat. “I can't remember... being him. I just know... what I dreamt and what papa and Archie told me.”

She sighs. “Do you want to know more?”

He looks around like a little child, unsure, she sees it in his eyes. He fears August W. Booth a bit, just like he seems to be fascinated by him. “Did you... forgive him? Or me, I don't know.”

“Yes, I did. Being a real boy includes mistakes, even if they are severe sometimes.”

He nods again with a relieved intake of breath. “So you are not mad at me?”

“At you? No. August died the day you came to Storybrooke, this is honestly how I see it.”

Pinocchio inhales deeply. “It's totally screwed up”, he states. “Totally weird.”

“Tell me about it”, she mutters while handing out three cups of hot chocolate. Killian eyes it sceptically, but she points at the opened bottle of rum and then at his cup, resulting in a grin from his side. It's a true miracle he stays so quiet through the whole affair.

For a while Pinocchio seems to be content with his beverage and his thoughts, and she is determined to let him think.

“Mrs Jones?”, he raises his voice finally. “If … in the future, I have any questions, will you answer them?”

She doesn't need to think about it to nod. “But don't hold too fast onto that dreams and your... his past.”

“I don't want to”, Pinocchio says. “But I need to know more... I don't have memories, so I need answers.”

She understands. “Of course.”

A short break and a sip of chocolate follow. “Do you miss him?”

Killian arches his brows before she can answer, and grabs her hand. She sighs a bit, and shoots him a smile, before she – truthfully – answers: “Yes, of course.”

She feels the pressure on her hand increase ever-so-slightly, and if it weren't for the gravity of the situation, she would at least find it a bit amusing. But it isn't, and Pinocchio's tortured look tells her that she needs to elaborate. He shouldn't be sorry.

“He was … like what Henry is to you. A good friend. An older brother. I didn't make a lot of friends, and August was one of the few exceptions. Of course I miss him. I always will.”

The pressure doesn't lessen, but a thumb slowly moves circles over the back of her hand now, and the grip gets less possessive and more reassuring.

“I'm sorry I'm not him”, Pinocchio mutters, making her chuckle in exasperation and ruffle his hair again.

“Stop being sorry for so awfully many things and start living your life, boy.”

“I'm nearly eighteen”, he says, with a slightly forced smile. “Stop doing that with my hair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how common this is, but hot chocolate with rum is a legitimate beverage. And I figured that if Hook lays hands on hot chocolate, he'd need a bit of rum in it.


	8. Happy Endings

The book is published when Pinocchio is eighteen and a half. It's a success, a larger success than his first book, and the money is enough for him to go to college. Henry is nearly finished by now, but for what time he has still left, he and Pinocchio will become room mates. The storybook goes to Neal, as the boys have agreed on years ago. 

It's on the last evening Pinocchio has in Storybrooke, when Henry brings him home with him after packing up all the stuff Pinocchio will need in Henry's car. He seems a bit different, Emma thinks, but maybe it's her mind tricking her. Ever since the thing with his second book, Pinocchio appears more mature to her somehow, but also coping much better with everything than she and Marco have feared. When Henry goes to phone one of his friends, and Killian goes to look after their daughter, she is alone with him once more in the kitchen. 

“You know what”, she addresses him with a smile, deciding to bring up the topic of August one last time. “I'm beginning to think this could really be a happy ending story.” 

“That I leave the town?”, he gives back with a raised brow and a smile that reminds her of the man he once was, a smile that dares to lay a trap for her. 

“Yes”, she gives back bluntly and the smile crumbles as quick as it has come. “Because you get to live the life you wanted to live.” 

Pinocchio exhales somewhat relieved, before he finds his jest again. “You won't get rid of me, you know. One day, I'll come back to Storybrooke with my typewriter and write new stories about all of you.” 

They both have to laugh at his joke disguised as a threat before Henry comes back, and the boys go to fetch a drink in The Rabbit Hole. She sees them in the door, her grown up son and the boy who looks so much like August, from his hair to his eyes to his leather jacket and the motorcycle and the typewriter he owns, and for the first time in more than a decade, she sees that it is indeed a happy ending. Not only for Pinocchio, but also for August, who has a book now dedicated to him, and whose memory seems to make Pinocchio a fine young man. 

And if her son and her daughter and her husband aren't her happy ending, she isn't sure what in this world really counts as happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the good old happy ending... *sighs*
> 
> The title "Another Stranger Me" is taken from a song of that name by Blind Guardian. The lyrics really don't fit the story (they're about Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde), but I had that song in mind when I finished writing, and I thought it would make a good title.
> 
> It's true, by the way, that August reminds me strongly of Templeton Peck a.k.a. Face from the A-Team and a bit of Oliver Twist. It's just something I can't quite explain, maybe it's because his runaway-kid past and his way of (mostly) getting people to do what he wants with words and smiles and psychology only. I really liked that about him.
> 
> This has been written in about eight hours, in one large run and another making corrections and adding a chapter. It has not been beta-read, and I apologise for it. I usually don't post without a beta-reader giving their okay, but unfortunaly none of my usual readers is into OUAT, so it went only through my own (subjective) beta-phase. So if anyone wants to beta-read, give comments and criticism, feel absolutely encouraged!


End file.
